Blood Trail, page 11
part #18 of John Jordan Mystery Series
“Did you kill Chris—out of self-defense or otherwise?” I ask.
“Did I tell you I would?”
I nod. “You did.”
“Exactly,” she says. “Still . . . figuring out or proving motive, means, and opportunity . . . that’s gonna be tough. If I did do it . . . there’s no way you could figure out how and prove it.”
“You don’t think so?”
“You’ve bested me a couple of times, John, I’ll admit—you’re the only man who ever has—but this is different.”
“Is it?”
“Very.”
“How?”
“The level of complexity involved, the precision it would require, a million other reasons.”
“So you won’t say whether you did it or had it done or not, but you are saying that if you did I’d never be able to figure out how, let alone prove it?”
“Is that what I said? Sounds a little verbose for me.”
“Please,” I say, “clarify in your own words.”
“Let’s say . . . for the sake of argument . . . let’s say you did it—you or Anna or maybe even Merrill—any of you. If one of y’all did . . . I’ve got no problem with you blaming it on me. You can say I did it or had it done. I can win two cases as easily as one. Would take the heat off you and the others. And like I said, I’d get off so I don’t mind.”
“That’s a very generous offer,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem.”
“But,” I say, “if I didn’t do it . . . and I really want to find out who did, it would help me to know for sure that you didn’t, so I won’t waste time investigating you.”
“I could never be a waste of time,” she says. “You should know that by now.”
“I didn’t say you were—or ever could be.”
“Tell you what,” she says. “If you want me to, I’ll solve it for you. You give me copies of the case files, a complete murder book, and I promise you I’ll be able to tell you who did it. But of course that assumes two things.”
“Oh yeah? What are those?”
“That you don’t already know who did it,” she says. “And that you actually want him or her caught.”
28
On my way home, I stop by Chris’s small, old, rented home on Second Street.
The poorly constructed house appears about to implode, its rotting, termite-infested boards about to crumple in on themselves.
The dilapidated rental property sits next to a few others, just down from the old city hall and fire department, a couple of rows of aluminum building storage sheds, and across the street from a coin laundromat inside what used to be a dentist’s office.
I find Reggie inside with Jessica Young, our crime scene officer, a couple of deputies in crime scene coveralls assisting her, and Darlene Weatherly. Tony and Arnie have already gone home for the day.
“How’d your interview with Randa go?” Reggie asks.
I hand her and Darlene a CD recording of it. “Not great. I’ll try her again in the near future. She’s enjoying playing too much right now.”
“I’m not so sure it’s such a good idea for you to be interviewing her or anyone else connected to Chris’s case,” Darlene says.
“Why’s that?” Reggie asks. “John has a rapport with her that no one else does.”
“But I thought you were working the female victim case,” she says.
“I am.”
“Why don’t you think it’s a good idea?” Reggie asks again.
“Conflict of interest,” she says. “Even if it’s just a perception . . . it could ruin our case.”
“This coming from you or Tony Ford?” Reggie asks.
“I’m saying it as a friend,” she says. “I’m just trying to do my job and protect my case from anything that could compromise it. I’m not gonna throw Tony or anyone else under the bus—including John—but y’all need to know what everybody’s thinking and most people are saying.”
“Which is?”
“That our department is trying to cover something up—or at least be in a position to if it comes to that. Look, I’m just saying be careful. Be discreet. Be less involved if you can. That’s all.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I understand and I will.”
“I asked John to drop by here,” Reggie says. “I thought we’d all be here and could have a little impromptu staff meeting of sorts, but Tony Ford is already on his way back to Tallahassee and Arnie had to take his wife to a doctor’s appointment in Panama City this afternoon.”
“Hey, like I said,” Darlene says with her hands up, “I’m just trying to look out for our department and this case. That’s all. Have no other agenda.”
“What’re y’all doing here?” I ask Jessica. “I thought the house had already been processed.”
As I ask her I look around at the sad, crumbling little shelter that surely must somehow be a metaphor for Chris’s life.
Even with all of us in it, it still feels lonely, hollow, barren. Even with the crime scene lights set up it seems dreary, dim, bleak. Even with our attention focused on it, the forlorn diminutive dwelling still seems forgotten.
“It had,” she says. “At least in terms of your typical cursory potential crime scene once over, but because of the residue of drugs and some of the cash the FDLE lab found in the car, we decided to take a closer look.”
“We’re opening up walls and shit,” Reggie says.
“And look what we found,” Jessica says, nodding toward the kitchen.
We all step over to it and look inside.
On sheets of plastic draped across the kitchen table stacks and stacks of cash are laid out in neat rows.
“Had nearly a million in cash hidden in his hallway walls,” Jessica says.
Reggie shakes her head. “Sorry son of a bitch had a checking account and would routinely get hardship handouts from local churches and what little extra money his folks could spare to send him and he’s sitting on a cool million in cash.”
“Any drugs, weapons, or anything else?” I ask.
“Just cold hard cash,” she says.
“So he’s been up to who knows what since he’s been in town,” Reggie says.
“It’s possible he brought it with him,” I say. “Had it hidden, put away for a rainy day and grabbed it when he got out of jail and moved here. Maybe to do with what Cecil Capps mentioned.”
She nods. “Could be.”
“Either way, you know what the old proverb says,” I add.
“What’s that?”
“Money in the wall is a motive for murder,” I say.
“You just made that up, but you’re not wrong,” she says. “I’d say we’re looking at a million motives—each one of them leading away from John’s family and our department.”
“This make you think any differently about Cecil’s offer?” I ask.
“The DA is drawing up an agreement that says we’ll talk to the judge on his behalf if he gives us solid, credible information that leads to the arrest and conviction of Chris’s killer. It comes with no guarantees so I doubt he’ll go for it, but we’ll soon find out.”
“That’s another situation where I think it’s best if you don’t talk to him,” Darlene says to me.
“I’m not,” I say. “He came into my office. Told me about wanting a deal. I brought it to y’all. I haven’t spoken to him since. And don’t plan to.”
She nods her approval.
“So if there are no drugs in the house,” I say to Jessica, “what’s the deal with the drugs found in Chris’s car?” Glancing at Darlene I add, “Asking for a friend.”
“The car was pretty clean,” Jessica says. “Mostly just residue, traces. He could’ve given someone a ride who had it on them. He could have been around it and transferred it to his vehicle. Hard to say, but . . . there’s just not enough of it.”
“If he was dealing or using or—”
“We’d expect to see more.”
As we walk toward our vehicles, I ask Darlene if I can speak with her for a moment.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I appreciate what you said in there and the difficult position you’re being put in. I’m sorry it’s this way for your first case.”
She shrugs. “Is what it is. I can deal.”
“I just want you to know I’m not going to do anything to compromise your investigation and I would never do anything to embarrass you. You have my word.”
“That means a lot to me,” she says. “Really does. Meant a lot to me that you gave me a CD of your interview with Randa too.”
“Trust takes time to earn,” I say. “I’m sure in time you and I will trust each other and rely upon one another the way Reggie, Arnie, and I do now. Just takes some time and testing. We’ll all get there.”
She nods. “I believe we will. And in the meantime you count on me not to do anything to compromise or embarrass you either.”
29
“Had a couple of interesting phone calls today,” Anna says. “One from Chris’s mother, the other from Carla.”
“Oh yeah?”
We are in our kitchen cooking dinner together. Well, she’s cooking. I’m helping. Through the case opening above the oven, we can see the girls playing on the floor in the living room while watching a kids’ adventure movie that involves birds and dogs. Beyond them, through the french doors, Tater is running around the backyard on his chain while evening slowly expands toward dusk.
Anna is standing at the stove. I’m across from her at the sink, though my upper body is twisted toward her.
“Audrey, that’s Chris’s mom, who he always told me was dead, says Chris’s dad, Lyle, plans to hire a PI and a PR firm, both in an effort to attack you and the department and accuse us of killing Chris and covering it up.”
“Can he afford that?”
“There are always those who charge cut-rate prices to exploit your grief,” she says. “Hell, some’ll do it for the publicity alone, but she says he’s going to use his savings and mortgage his house.”
“Why’d she tell us?”
“She has nothing to do with it and believes it will only make their pain and grief worse. She really wants to meet her granddaughter before she dies and thinks if Lyle can meet her too that he might—that it might help him heal some and maybe he won’t try to destroy our lives and his own in the process.”
I think about it.
“Whatta you think?” she says.
“I think it’s your decision and I’ll support you in it and help with it either way,” I say. “What kind of sense did you get from her on the phone?”
“I felt like . . . like even if none of the rest of it worked I wanted her to meet her grandchild. I may be projecting . . . probably am . . . but I found myself relating to her. She seems too kind and . . . she was realistic about Chris. I just thought . . . maybe . . . if the mother of a monster can be a decent person maybe the ex-wife of one can too.”
I drop the knife in the sink and step over to her. Pulling her away from the stove, I spin her around and hold her.
I start to say several things, but stop each time, deciding instead just to hold her.
“How could I have married such a . . . man?” she says. “How could I have stayed married to him? What’s wrong with me?”
I don’t say anything, just continue to hold her, as the girls play and the pots on the stove go without stirring.
“That wasn’t rhetorical,” she says. “I’d like to hear your thoughts on the subject.”
“Sorry. No one is responsible for who they marry as a kid—and that’s what you were. You were still in high school when you started dating him. And then . . . trying your best to make it work, to figure it out and not fail . . . is commendable. And of course trying even harder for your unborn child . . . Chris was a professional liar, maybe even a highly accomplished sociopath.”
“Sometimes I have nightmares about Taylor growing up to be just like him,” she says. “Like she won’t be able to escape the curse of his DNA.”
“She has your DNA, and his is no match. Plus she’ll have a lifetime of nurture from you and more love from both of us and her big sister than she’ll know what to do with.”
She nods her head against my shoulder and sniffles a little. “There’s no doubt about that.”
“Look at them,” I say.
She turns and follows my gaze to the two precious little girls playing so sweetly and contentedly together on the rug on the living room floor.
“You’re right,” she says. “I’m being silly. And now I’ve burned dinner.”
“Actually, that was my fault,” I say. “I’ll go pick us up something. What sounds good? You go in there with them and you’ll have your faith in humanity restored by the time I get back.”
“You’ve already done that,” she says. “It’s something you’ve done every single day I’ve known you.”
After we place our order, I ask her what Carla said.
“She was just checking in. Wondered if we had made a decision yet. I think she’s just nervous. We’ve got to make a decision soon, but in the meantime could you give her a call and reassure her? I tried to, but I’m sure hearing from you will do her the most good.”
On my way to pick up dinner from the Tiki Grill, I call Reggie.
“I tried to talk to you at Chris’s earlier this evening,” I say, “but someone was always around.”
“What’s up?”
“I spoke to a witness who saw you and your mom at the Dead Lakes Campground the night Chris was killed.”
“How credible?”
“Very.”
“Well, we weren’t exactly hiding,” she says. “Pretty sure I even waved at Anna as we passed by.”
“She’s not the witness, by the way,” I say. “She’s saying very little about any of it.”
“Wouldn’t matter if she were. I’m assuming since you haven’t already, you don’t plan on telling me who the witness is.”
“No reason to,” I say. “He’s a friend—of both of ours.”
“What do you plan on doing with his statement?”
“Just what I’m doing,” I say. “Sharing it with you.”
“Does the witness plan on doing anything else with it?” she asks.
“No. Hell, I barely got him to tell me.”
“Okay. Thanks. And for the record—yours if no one else’s—I was just driving Mom around. We do that some . . . just to get her out of the house. Drove all over that evening. Just rode around and talked. Didn’t get out of the car.”
Reggie and Sylvia
“Who was that?” Sylvia asks when Reggie ends the call.
“John.”
“I take it someone told him we were in the park that evening?”
“Uh huh.”
“Will it be a problem?” Sylvia asks.
“Shouldn’t be,” Reggie says.
“Really? Why’s that?”
“Witness only saw us the first time,” she says. “When we wanted to be seen.”
Driving home from Tiki Grill with our food, I call Carla.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, just stressin’. Ready to have this settled.”
“We’d like to meet again and talk some more about it,” I say. “And we thought if you’re willing for us to, we might go to your next doctor’s appointment with you.”
“Sure, I’d love that.”
“One of the things I want you to think about,” I say, “is if you’re sure you really don’t want to raise your baby yourself. Because if you do, we would help in every way imaginable—support, money, babysitting, anything you need. That way you’d get everything we can offer, but you’d still get to raise your child.”
“That’s unbelievably generous of you,” she says, “and I’ll think about it some more, but I have been thinking about it, have been looking at it from every imaginable angle and I always reach the same conclusion . . . I’m just not ready. Now is not the time for me.”
“And what happens when in a few short years it is the time for you?” I say.
“I won’t come asking for your baby—and that’s what it’ll be, your baby—I’ll have my own when it’s my time. You have my word on that. You don’t have to worry about growing attached to your son and having me try to take him from you. It won’t happen.”
“Think about everything from every possible angle all over again,” I say, “and we’ll get together soon and talk about all of it.”
30
A couple of nights later, after Anna and Taylor and most of the country have gone to bed, and I’ve called and said goodnight to Johanna who is back with her mom for the new school year, Merrill and I drive to Panama City.
It’s a dark night, and quiet, the rural roads and city streets mostly empty.
We’re heading to an area on 15th Street where Panama City begins to transition into Panama City Beach, where bars, strip clubs, and tattoo parlors are concentrated in a few city blocks.
I had bribed Merrill out of bed with his fiancé, Zaire, with the promise we could stop by Joe’s Corner Pub on the way back for wings, but as we near the Gold Nugget strip club, he seems to have other things on his mind.
“Sure they’s nobody in there we need to interview?”
“You tell me,” I say. “I’m sure there is, between all the cases you’re working.”
“Speaking of,” he says. “I think Cecil Capps may be legit. Chris was his attorney and business partner in some pretty shady shit back in the day. Don’t know how up-to-date his info is, but . . . he knew some shit at some point.”
“DA’s gonna offer him a deal to talk,” I say.
“Fucked up system,” he says. “The more shit you do, the more shit you know, the more you have to trade, the more chances you skate.”
I nod.
“Cecil was involved in all kinds of fraud,” he says. “Probably means Chris was too. Maybe where a lot of his ill-gotten gain came from. Insurance fraud. Bank fraud. Even got caught filing fraudulent BP claims.”
